out of this shithole and back astride my Harley.
That’s what I’ve missed the most. Sure, I’ve missed my brothers and my club, but without sounding like a pussy, it’s the wind against my face, the smell of oil and exhaust fumes, and the sound of the engine that I’ve thought about every single day. Being a biker is more than the cut I wear, its in my blood so not being able to ride is akin to losing a limb.
You take your freedom for granted until it’s taken away from you. And what for? Because I hurt a fucking prick who liked to rough up his victims? No, I’m not down with that. Seeing the preppy fucker forcing himself on the crying girl in the alley next to the new nightclub that night, I’d acted without thought and ripped him away from her before beating some sense into him.
Trouble is, when the cops came calling at Carnage for me a day later, it was because the guy’s dad was a judge and the girl he had hurt had withdrawn her statement and changed her story. She claimed they were having rough consensual sex when I attacked them without provocation.
I went from the hero of her story to the villain in the blink of an eye.
It was all bullshit. I know what rough sex looks like, and that wasn’t it. That was rape, pure and simple. I’d bet my fucking bike they got to the girl and either paid her off or threatened her.
Part of me can’t blame her. She was a young terrified girl who didn’t even look old enough to be clubbing. But the other part of me, the part that’s been staring at these bars for the last five years, is pissed she left me to swing.
I wonder if she ever regrets her decision, or if she even thinks about me at all. Fuck, I wonder if she considers what would’ve happened to her if I hadn’t stuck my neck on the line and kept on walking by like a lot of folks would have.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.
I’m getting out of here, no questions asked, and it’s unbreakable. I might have been sent down because a judge used his connections to make sure the book was thrown at me, but the governor signed my release, so anyone who wants to contest it can suck my dick.
“Keaton.” I turn at the sound of my name, surprised I was so lost in my head that I didn’t even hear anyone enter. That shit could get a man killed around here.
“Warden,” I greet cordially, hoping karma isn’t about to strike me down dead.
“I have the official papers in my office. You’ll be out of here on the thirtieth. Must feel good,” he comments.
As far as wardens go, this one seems to be a genuine guy, never using his or his father’s status to make himself special. He could have been a giant prick. Hell, he didn’t even need to be working here, he was loaded as fuck. The whole reason he was attacked in the first place was under the misguided idea of forcing his family to pay a release ransom. How the hell they ever thought that would work is beyond me, but as I said, prison makes people go crazy.
“I can’t say I’ll miss the place, but I do want to say thanks. You didn’t have to help me out,” I tell him
“It was my father mostly, but I might have twisted his arm a little. See, I read your file while you were locked up in the medical wing, wondering what kind of guy does what you did. You could have died protecting me. Doesn’t sound like the hardened criminal biker I was led to believe you were.”
I bristle until I realize he isn’t insulting me.
“I skimmed your file when you came here, but none of the details. Why would I? You were just another guy who had done wrong. Was I hopeful you could turn shit around?” He looks at me and laughs. “Honestly, no. I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass and say I thought you were a wrongly convicted angel, but after reading your file a little more in-depth, it seems there are a lot of things that don’t quite add up,” he says, waiting for me to fill in the gaps, but I don’t speak. He doesn’t need me to point out where the system failed me.
“It seems the person you hit